(It may sound odd, but there is a 20-year age-gap between my little sister and me. Our dad died a few years ago, and our mom has been disabled since a car crash a couple years ago, so I take care of my sister most of the time. At the time of the story, she is six, and I am 26. It should be noted, despite me looking years younger — I am frequently mistaken for a teenager — people often think I’m her mother. This happens at a parent-teacher conference with her teacher, who I have met many times.)

Teacher: “Hello, Mrs. [Our Last Name].”

Me: “Oh, [My First Name] is fine.”

Teacher: “Ah, yes. Well, [Sister] has been excelling in reading, but her math scores are very low for a child of her age.”

Me: “Yes, I’ve been giving her extra help. Difficulty with math runs in the family.”

Teacher: “About that… I was thinking it might be due to her home life; as her mother, you’d know best.”

Me: “Oh, no. I thought you knew, I’m [Sister]’s sister. Our mom couldn’t make it, so I came.”

Teacher: “It’s okay. You don’t have to play games with me. I won’t let the secret slip to [Sister].”

Me: “Excuse me? What secret?”

Teacher: “I know you are her mother and that your mother claims to be her mother to protect you from the stigma of a teen pregnancy. It’s all right; as I said, I won’t tell [Sister].”

Me: “What?! No. I’m her sister, not her mother. I was not a teen mom. I’m here to talk about how she’s doing in school, so if we could continue?”

(She continued to make insinuations that I was my sister’s mother, and even “accidentally” used the term “mom” several more times. She had no interest in really talking about how my sister was doing in school, and I found out my sister wasn’t really thriving in her class. We had her moved to another teacher who turned out to be much better, and her math skills went up, too.)

(I’m getting ready to move two hours away and need to set up electricity for the new apartment I’m moving to. The power company at my new apartment is different than the one at my current apartment, so I call the new company to get an account set up.)

Representative: “You need power turned on at [date] for [address]; is this correct?”

Me: “Yep, you got it.”

Representative: “Okay, since you have never had an account with us, there will be a deposit.”

(Several seconds of silence follow as I’m hoping there will be a followup to his last sentence.)

Me: “Is that just because I’ve never had power with you before, or can you do like a credit check?”

Representative: “If you had let me FINISH, I would have said that you would have to pay a deposit assuming you fail a credit check.”

(Yes, he yelled the word “finish” and I’m pretty angry at how much of a jerk this guy is being.)

Me: “Then run my d*** credit. Are you running it yet? Are you finished talking? Is it credit check time? I’m assuming that you not talking means you are finished with your sentence. Of course, I thought that before, when you were quiet for five full seconds, but maybe I’m wrong. Go ahead… Run my credit.”

Representative: *a little bit nicer* “Um… Okay. I will go ahead and run your credit, now.”

(A few more seconds pass.)

Representative: “Okay. You do not have to pay a deposit. Your credit score is really good.”

Me: “Didn’t think I would need to pay one.”

Representative: “Your account is set up. I’m going to send you over to a survey to rate our conversation. Remember to rate me fairly based on the service I have provided today.”

(I rated him VERY fairly based on the service he provided.)

(My sister has recently worked up the courage to kick out her abusive husband. The only problem is that he needs help moving his stuff to his new flat, but he doesn’t have a car. Being the nice person that I am, I offer to drive him there, and my teenage niece tags along so I can drop her off in town later. After a long, uncomfortably silent journey, we get to the flat. The husband basically bullies me into helping carry his stuff inside, but my niece manages to convince him to let her stay in the car. She’s on her phone. I grab some stuff and go up to the flat, feeling unsettled by the husband’s sullen silence.)

Husband: “Put that box just in there.”

(I do, and turn just in time to see him close the door. Although he has always been friendly toward me, I’ve heard what he’s capable of, and am understandably nervous. He insists on showing me around before I leave. I agree, but soon come to regret my decision.)

Husband: “…and here’s the bedroom.” *he gestures toward the far wall* “There are two old biddies next door, who like each other very much. I used to turn the TV up at night, but now I just sit and listen to them. It’s quite funny.” *he starts to imitate moaning noises and squeaking*

Me: *freaked out* “Right… Well, I’ve got to go now. [Niece] is waiting in the car.”

(He just stares at me.)

Me: “I’ll just let myself out.”

(I practically flee the building, and scramble into my car, creeped out. My niece looks up from her phone for the first time all day, looking at me with mild interest.)

Niece: “I can’t believe you went with him. The number one rule of staying alive as a young woman: Never go into a flat with a strange man, especially without backup.”

Me: *laughing nervously* “Oh, I was kind of hoping you’d be my backup. Just out of interest… How long would you have left it before coming after me?”

Niece: “I’d like to say ten minutes…”

Me: “But?”

Niece: “Realistically? Probably when my phone ran out of battery.”

(Needless to say, I was not impressed.)

(Some cities in one Canadian province charge $5 for library memberships. My city, in a different province, does not charge. Nonetheless, we get a written complaint:)

Complaint: “In [City], where I used to live, they give you a free tote bag when you join the library. I was disappointed not to get a free bag with my purchase of a library membership.”

(That tote bag is worth $1, so they just complained about saving $4.)

(I come into work to find this email from a customer:)

Email: “I left my iPad in a blue case at your store. I WANT IT BACK. I brought it in to see if you could help with it and forgot it on the counter. Why wouldn’t you have called to tell me I left it there? Or texted me. Now I have to wait in agony until 7:30 so I can call you. Call me earlier if you can. It better still be there!”